


Bone Song

by callowyn, Las



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Necrophilia, Other, Prose Poem, Skeletons, Trueform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callowyn/pseuds/callowyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las/pseuds/Las
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skeletons make the best boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bone Song

**Author's Note:**

> Originally part of [this thread](http://thingstiel.livejournal.com/1610.html?thread=109130#t109130) on [](http://thingstiel.livejournal.com/profile)[**thingstiel**](http://thingstiel.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Expanded as a fic [here](http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/222355.html).

  
Skeletons make the best boyfriends.  
Without the mutability of flesh, you can see the honesty of bones that much easier.  
He lets her play xylophones on his ribcage.  
His phalanges are like castanets.  
He always has a smile for her.  
Dry bones never slip out of your fingers.  
The smooth dry skull against her lips, the phalanges combing through her hair—  
Bracing herself against his ribs and feeling the empty wind blow through.  
She puts her hand up his ribcage and says, Here. Here is where your heart would be.  
He doesn't understand why she would want something so messy, so gaudy, so warm.

This is extraneous, he says. Runs his phalanges down her arms, down her back. You can do so much more with so much less.  
He says, Why do you carry the weight of these muscles? Why do you tie yourself to yourself with these ebbing veins? He asks, Why are you hiding under this ever-moving skin?  
His hands on her face. It's not this that I love.  
Her skin makes itself anew twice in a single month; it was never meant to hold. And it tears so easily.  
He says, I can make you free.

Be with me and you will never grow old. Don't you want to know the truth of yourself? Underneath this variability is a constant you deserve to know.  
Let me play the music in your body. All the octaves in your ribcage, the percussion along your legs, the long white notes click-clacking.  
The drumbeat of your heart is so muted. Your staccato breaths are nothing to the sharp notes I could kiss along your clavicle.  
Peel back the silence: in your bones, something is singing.


End file.
